


greasy fic

by flothauvin98



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 17:57:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19178473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flothauvin98/pseuds/flothauvin98
Summary: "10/10. A literary masterpiece" - The Guardian"A modern classic" - Huffington Post





	greasy fic

“Wow,” 

Your boyfriend of two weeks, Antoine, had just been at the door, coming to collect you so that he could take you out for dinner. You were pretty nervous, this was your first actual dinner date and all you really wanted to do was impress him, so you dressed in your nicest most expensive outfit and made yourself look as presentable as possible.

“Wow,” Antoine repeated, as he stood at the door. You blush gently. You’re about to reply before he interrupts you by pushing you out the way and stepping into your apartment.

“Your house is messy as fuck,” He inspects around, which makes you pretty uncomfortable but you don’t comment.

“I know, An-“

“It looks like a black house. You know, where blacks live. My friend Paul is a black and his house is nasty. Would expect they were better at cleaning, cause they used to clean our houses and all,”

He laughed at his own joke, extremely hard, going red as tears streamed down his face. You let him recover before you both finally leave and get into his car.

The ride to the restaurant is pretty uncomfortable, you sit nervously, as Antoine places a hand on your thigh and describes in detail about the time he painted himself black.

“Next Halloween, we’ll do a couple costume and we can dress up as black kids whose dad left them,” He insisted as you exited the car, parking it beside two others.

It takes Antoine around ten minutes to choose which restaurant to go to, seeing as you left the decision to him. He changed his mind at least four times before setting on the one they were originally going to anyway.

It wasn’t going well so far but you prayed that it would get better as the date went on. You tried to focus on the positive, you were on a DATE with GRIEZMANN, famous footballer, YOUR boyfriend.

“You smell nice,” Antoine comments. Cuts the first compliment he’s said all day and part of you wishes he didn’t even notice.

He’s sniffing your hair. In public. You’re sure at least 5 people were watching. He’s actually sniffing your hair.

“Thanks,” You attempt to answer awkwardly, “Just had a shower”

“You just had a what?” He asked as you were seated at a fancy table.

“A shower,”

“I don’t know what that is but okay,”

Then the conversation begjns to flow, and it seemed like things were starting to be normal, be okay, things were beginning to look alright.

And then he ruins it.

“Would you like to dance with me?” 

There was no music in the background. Antoine had just asked you if you wanted to dance in utter silence in a public restaurant. What did he expect you to say?

“Not really, babe,” You answer, honestly.

“Well then would you like to watch me dance?”

You nod, but only because he won’t shut up unless he does his daily dose of dancing. This happens every single time you try to hang out with him. You didn’t think he’d do it OUTSIDE the comfort of his home but he is.

He stands up and does the take-the-L dance. The dumb one he does when he celebrates a goal. It may be funny once or twice in matches but right now, in the awkward silence of a fancy restaurant, it was just embarrassing.

“Wasn’t that hot?” He compliments himself after a solid three minutes of doing it. You ignore him.

“Wasn’t that hot, babe?” He asks again, but after realising that you’re not gonna answer, he replies to himself, “OFCOURSE it was, Antoine, it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen”

And then he does another dumb dance. And another. And every single time you wish he’d just sit down and shut up, he does another one. And every single time you wonder if he’s run out of dances, he surprises you with another cringey move.

You’re embarrassed to know him.

Eventually, twenty minutes later, he sits back down. There are five minutes of peace. And then he breaks it once again.

“I don’t like this restaurant anymore,” He says as he puts a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth. Without hesitation, he gets up and makes for the door.

“ANTOINE! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

“I don’t like this place anymore! I’m leaving!”

“But you literally JUST said you wanted to come here, why did you make such a dramatic decision if you were going to leave here anyway?”

“Because I am a Frenchman, it is in my blood,” He replies, and underneath your breath, you add ‘to be a little bitch?’.

You are sitting at a table alone. Your boyfriend’s half eaten pasta is staring back at you. The strangers around you are thinking you’re a madwoman for seeing a man like that.

You open up the messages on your phone, and quickly type ‘Where are you’ and then send it to Antoine.

He replies immediately, ‘Driving home’ and you want to punch him.

‘How am I gonna get home?’ You type.

‘Idk call an uber x’

You’re seeing red now, you practically feel sick at the hatred consuming your every vein as you stare back at the text. How dare he take you on a date, embarrass you in public and then run off, leaving you to pay for the food AND a ride home!

‘You know what I’m fucking sick of you and your self-absorbed racist obnoxious being thinking that just because your a rich white boy you can go around doing whatever you feel like and thinking you’re quirky and fun to be around when you’re not. You’re just obnoxious. You and your fucking dumbass fortnite obsession are obnoxious.’ You hit send and wait for him to reply.

‘Did... did you just call fortnite DUMB?’ Is the only thing he replies and when you tell him you did, he takes a second to type before you receive another message from him.

‘Stay where you are babygirl I’m turning the car around and coming back, I’m sorry’

A wave of relief rushes over you and you patiently wait at the entrance of the restaurant for Antoine to come back. Maybe today was just a day off. Maybe you’d got the message through his thick skull.

“There you are!” He grins as he approaches you, a shiny metallic thing placed in his hand. Was that a necklace? A ring? 

He moves closer, but not close enough that you can see what he’s holding. Gently and gracefully, you lift your arms up, ready to wrap them around his neck and (very greasy) hair.

His hand moves closer and with one fell swoop, you feel a mass of pain in your stomach. You look down to see what’s going on and witness your own blood dripping onto the cold concrete floor. He’s stabbed you.

Your boyfriend has stabbed you.

As more and more blood breaks lose of your body and your own tears blind you, you fall to the floor and lose more and more consciousness by the second.

And in the last few seconds of being able to sense things around you, you widen your eyes just a bit more to take one last look at your murderer. Your boyfriend. To see what form of solitude he’s in. He must feel horrible, he must feel absolutely heartbroken at what he’s just done, regret must be eating away at his heart. As your eyesight begins to clear just a bit, you can finally see him.

And he’s doing his take-the-L fortnite dance.


End file.
